Stagger Inn PM

Penguin:

“Woodward!”
“Jameson?”
“We're throwing you something to right the ship with here son. Get your ass up to Crestview, talk to Dante Tanner. He runs the Galt mining Company up there. Do a positive industry piece on him and the company. Higher ups are telling us to make Colorado's economy look revitalized and brought up by fresh ideas. Don't fuck this up, we want it as part of a series on start-up business.” *click*

That was one of the more unexpected calls Carl Woodward had ever received. He was positive that he had blown it at the Denver Post when Jameson, his editor, had told him to fuck off for a while after his last labor of love piece that simply chronicled some of the strange occurrences around Barr lake over the past century. Carl had been careful to leave out some of the crazier elements where locals talked about seeing shadowy figures and just make it sound like a history of the lake piece, but Jameson saw through it and Carl had thought he had lost his job. He almost wished he had, then he could move, try a new paper. Now he was stuck doing a story in the middle of nowhere that nobody who got a place in the office wanted to do. Carl had heard that some weird obsidian orbs had been found, so maybe there would be something interesting there.

The first order of business before he went to Crestview was to get anything he could about Galt co. and this Dante guy. Maybe there would be some fun skeletons to spook up. He was supposed to make them look good, but fuck it, bad press always moved more copies. (Library use)

It was late by the time Carl got into Crestview, making the Stagger Inn's name seem all the more appropriate. The man at the counter said his name was Isaac.
“Hi Isaac, I need a room, probably only for a day or two,” he let him fill out the paperwork then sat down at the bar. “Pour me whatever the special is here. I'm with the Denver Post, you mind telling me about the Galt co.?”

Keeper:

[Library Use 50/45 - failed to find out more than base information, and a handful of articles regarding the mine collapse.]

The changing of the proverbial guard had come and gone, with Isaac taking over for Chris and aimlessly cleaning around, in between reading. He was keeping an eye out for the author to try and get it autographed. He was about thirty pages in when the bell over the door rang. He helped to get the man set with a room, made sure that papers were right, then sat back down. "Denver Post, a'yuh?" He shrugged and pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring a scotch and soda for the customer and sliding it to him. "Well, what is there to know about the Galt company? They started off doing coal mining, now they provide to the Treasury. Almost every coin you touch could be traced back to them in some way. This used to be the deepest mine in the known world. Then it collapsed and fell in on itself, has never quite been the same. Real self starters. But now....now it's just kind of there. Locals used to call it Hadestown, because of the stench and smoke coming outta the ground. Anything else you wanna know?"

Malin

Wren took a moment to give the little inn a looking over.

It's pretty cute. I will have to get a picture on my phone in the morning.

Wren was relieved as she walked through the door and felt the heat wash over her. She had not realized just how cold she had become on that walk into town. With a big smile on a now very noticeably red face, Wren walked up to the counter.

"Hi, I am Wren and would like a room please. Do you have room service from the bar?" Wrens smile grew. "If so I would love to have a Lemon drop martini sent up to my room."

I can't wait to get in a hot bath.

Wren started to dig out her wallet as she waited for an answer.

Isaac glanced up. "Rooms going left and right now, ayuh. Room service would be me. And if'n it's all the same to you, I'd rather you have your drink down here. Less stairs." He grinned at her, sliding over a clipboard. "Seventy a night. But since you're a friend of Tommy's, sixty." He took the money from her and counted it, dropping it into his pocket. "I hear you have car trouble, so I may as well try to be nicer." He made the Lemon Drop, setting it down on the bar. His attention turned to Woodward at the other end of the bar. "Lots of people coming by. Not exactly a tourist town."

Lyam had paid for his room and had spent the next hour or so, setting things up the way he wanted it. He was a meticulous man and he worked in silence, listening to the thoughts the fluttered aimlessly around his head. He first looked around the room, checking for any signs of bed bugs, hotels were notorious for them now these days. When he was satisfied that none were there he undid his luggage and took out his neatly folded clothes and put them away in the dresser provided. Lyam progressed to the bathroom and set out his toiletries, and after a moments debate of his reflection in the mirror he decided to shave.

The room was mediocre. Like countless other hotel rooms he'd stayed in. The full bed, the nightstand, the dresser, the old 17" TV with cable box attachment sitting on a dusty looking entertainment center. The view outside the window left him nonplussed. Colorado. He hated it here, he tried to tell himself he was satisfied but Lyam deeply loathed Colorado. It was a place to run to, a place to hide, a place to wallow in his loneliness.

Lyam was self-aware enough to recognize his loneliness. He could move back home, could see his parents and brother again. But he was afraid he'd forget.

He spit and wiped the corners of his mouth. His teeth brushed.

Lyam put on he pea coat and exited his room. The lobby was empty but he found a man at the bar with the name tag Isaac. A mildly attractive lady, somewhere around his age, stood talking to the man. Lyam waited patiently off to the side for a moment to interject. When it came he spoke quickly, "Sir, if it wouldn't bother you too much. Could you please send a maid to my room. Place looks like it hasn't been dusted in ages." His voice thick with British politeness with the ever so subtle hint of buggery. "Ohh and could you recommend a place to eat in this quaint little town?" God he hated Colorado. He gave the woman a polite smile, more teeth than anything.

Isaac glanced upwards, his courtesy matching the Brits. "Seeing as how the closest thing we have to maid is out at the moment, I'll send her as soon as I can. Far as food, I can tell the kitchen to get you something decent, sir." He studied the man for a moment, then grinned. "I've got a book I'd like you to sign, if it wouldn't be any trouble. Whenever works for you. Your choices of food really come from here or the mine cooks, and considering that the miners prefer here, I'd say it's a bit telling. I would hope Chris talked to you about the history in our town, if'n what he said is true and you're here to write something? Fine story. If not, maybe we can have a chat while food cooks." Isaac patted a spot in front of a bar stool, grinning. "On the house, if that's alright. I'll give Tara a call to clean your room up as well."

Bugger all. A fan. It would make sense that I'd come all this way to sign a bloody book. What kind of moron reads my shit anyway? Instead he returned a smile to the man. "Sure, I'll sign whatever you like so long as I can get a decent sandwich. Fraid 'm quite famished you see." He sat down at the aforementioned bar stool, it felt like it had experienced years of use by men much larger than him. "People from Colorado are so hospitable," And bloody stupid, "reminds me of people back home." without the baths.

"Could I get a draft?" He asked, pointing the the Budweiser on tap. It was piss-water but it'd do. "That and a club sandwich with some chips." He speculated that that would be the hardest to mess up. "I was also curious about that mine your buddy was talking about earler. Whole thing seems a little fishy, isn't it?"

Isaac grinned and reached under the bar, taking out a battered copy of Where Nobody Can Hear You, one of Lyam's first books. "Still the best, in my opinion." Isaac poured the beer and wrote the order, passing it through a small window to the kitchen. Some minor grumbling was heard as they started to work on the order. "The mine. Was the deepest in the world, past three miles afore it finally collapsed. They had a small city down in the depths of it, past the three mile mark. Used to call it Hadestown, 'cause of the sulfur smell and all the soot. They kept digging down, and in about...1940, I wanna say, the whole mine collapsed in. They hit some sort of underground river that caused the collapse. They were able to get out most of the wounded folks, but one of the foreman was trapped down there. When they tried to move him, it was obvious he'd die if they pulled him out from under the debris. And the river was coming forward, rising up, and they'd already had to evacuate the shanty town. So they left Jon Ferguson there, with a fifth of bourbon and a pistol. And the water kept rising. And as it did, the mine kept falling. Finally it overtook Jon, then Hadestown. The mine stopped collapsing around a mile underground. The old rail route they used to ferry in materials to Hadestown was collapsed, and they couldn't move the rubble, so they just moved on. Nobody's been able to make it back down there. Too much rubble still. They switched to shallow mining, and now they're trying to sell it off. Galt says it's out of ore, and most of the stuff used in currency was in the deeper mines." Isaac took a breath. "That about answer questions? I mean, there's more that people claim, but it gets a bit...eccentric. I hear a lot after people are a few beers into the night."

Lyam, gently and almost reverently took the battered book from Isaac's hands. It was obvious that it had been read over and over again, if by Isaac, then it really did mean he was a fan. He had wrote Where Nobody Can Hear You ten years ago. It was what had got him recognized as a legitimate author. In some ways Lyam regarded it all at the same time his most real, raw, and niave piece of literature. All at once his best and worst work.

He had met his wife because of that book. At a book signing, she had come in because she wanted a free muffin. She loved horror, movies, not books. Kat wasn't much of a reader. She had been beautiful, the book signing was slow. He had swallowed his nervousness and told her she could have a muffin if she went out for dinner with him. She turned away for a long moment fussing around in her purse but suddenly turned around a took a muffin anyway, and without a word, just a small blush of her cheeks, she slid her phone number to him.

"... was the deepest in the world..." Isaac was saying. Lyam had been tracing the outlines of "Nobody Can Hear You" absently with his thumb. With a soundless sigh he opened the book and took out a pen from inside his inner coat pocket, listening to every word the young man said. He wrote, Dearest Isaac, you're much too good at being an orator to work at a bar, take it from me, your good friend Lyam, you have a knack for telling stories. Use it. At least become Mayor of this buggered little town. Good luck, Lyam Benson. PS If I find this on Ebay I'll castrate you. Hah!

There, that was enough. He turned to his awful beer and listened to the rest of the story.

"Brilliant my boy." He slid the book back to him. "You could always share the odd bits for me. I live for that, I am a horror author after all." His curiosity got the best of him. Lyam was a fan of tall tales himself, ever since he was a boy, it's how he got into his business. His wild imaginings had to be shared. And the idea of city buried two miles beneath the earth ignited that imagination.

Isaac laughed. "I guess that's true. Well, a few things. The local stories say that after the rubble blocked the whole mine shaft, they started hearing noises down below. Some said it was the sound of lost miners trying to find the way back up. About a year after the collapse, the old mine train that used to run down to Hadestown came back out the port, completely empty. When they looked around the tracks, they found them blocked still. The train had been buried in with the rest, and now it's sitting out behind the church in it's own little graveyard of sorts. They still say that when you get farther down in the mine, you can hear voices and see ghost lights. But miners are a superstitious group, and being that deep underground can mess with a mind. They saw they've seen feral dogs down there, and that they've heard the sounds of a city in revelry. But for years now, they haven't gone close to the rubble. Too risky. The train has supposedly gone down there some nights, but it's rusted and won't carry. Besides, the track is still blocked." Isaac took his book back reverently, grinning at the inscription. "That's a suitable threat. Oh, and then there's this. Likely something stupid, but it is what it is. One of the miners found it. I traded some beers for it." Isaac pulled out a tattered paper, holding it to Lyam.

It was weathered and crumpled, a poster that showed signs of stress and age. On it was a vaguely patriotic image, followed by red block lettering.
Why do we build the wall?
We build the wall to keep us free.
How does the wall keep us free?
The wall keeps out the enemy.
Who do we call the enemy?
The enemy is poverty.
Because we have and they have not!
Because they want what we have got!
What do we have that they should want?
We have work and they have none.
That's why we build the wall.
We build the wall to keep us free.


"It was found down round the Gas and Dash, wind had stuck it a pump. It's probably something unrelated, except for the fact that it was printed on a Galt letterhead."

"Thank you." Lyam said softly, taking the tattered paper gently in his hand. He eyed the patriotic design and the red font. It looked quite old and he briefly wondered if it could be dated before he actually read the inscription. It seemed like kind of a rallying chant, like something out of the depression in the thirties. Jobs had been precious, people were starving. A dedication to ones work would be understandable. Lyam read it two or three times more before asking, "May I keep this? I know people who could find out about such things, collectors of history."

Lyam had listened to the boy tell his story, with an avidly silent interest. He had begun to feel an odd sensation, almost as a deja vu but with a twist. He felt the strange sensation of being trapped in a book he was writing, an odd idea captured and toyed with by horror authors everywhere. Lyam had shoved the feeling down during the narrative, superstition was created by the author but did not exist for him.

He had no idea of what to make of the train or the mine. Truth to tell, Lyam had never actually been in a real mine. He had no basis of which to form an opinion. He made a resolution to go there himself and experience it first hand. Maybe he would even talk to some of the miners, if they were superstitious they could give him amazing ideas. Good authors of horror played on the fears of others.

Isaac was a little hesitant to let the paper leave so freely. "I guess.....I mean, I just don't want to see it get damaged. Whatever it is, it's old. There's only a few papers from that era that we have here. Just that one and an old playbill advert. Also on Galt paper." Isaac stared at the paper for a long time. "I suppose it's a fair trade. Just take care of it. Papers that old will fall apart easy, and there's not much to be found from that time 'round here. If I guess right, that is." Isaac glanced around, looking at the other customers before leaning in a bit. "Hope you don't mind, but I'm gonna keep the advert. Just a little piece of history. And the old mine boys don't like to talk about the stories much...they say that talking about them seems to give power to 'em. Best guy to chat with might be Tommy over at Gas and Dash. He knows a lot, his dad used to work the mines. He did too, but surface work."

Lyam gave the boy a serious look, the level of seriousness that only a British man can pull off. "Mate. You have to understand that these pieces of history need to be stored in very special areas with proper conditions such as perfect temperature or humidity, else wise they rot all to hell." He glanced at the rhyme in his hand. "I know some people at the University of Colorado who could properly store them so they last generations and who could give us some enlightening information about their backgrounds. It's one of the benefits of being a scholar, you get connections." He shrugged and gave him a wry smile. Despite himself, he was actually growing to like this kid. "I understand the personal attachment so I won't press the issue. But if what you say about this town's history is true, than this may be the only way to preserve it's old glory days. Sort of like an American Atlantis." His smile turned into a grin. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Might be a good title for a book."

Isaac paused, pondering the idea. After a long moment, he reached under the bartop and pulled out a beaten playbill. He laid it out on the table in front of Lyam, smiling sheepishly. It had a picture of a gorgeous blonde in a red dress, her hair in ringlets as she leaned towards the camera, blowing a kiss. The words around it were in a flowing script.

Our Lady of the Underground proudly presents the Queen of Hadestown!
Come see Persephone herself, singing the songs you loved. Watch her dance and show you visions of the utopia you have here below!
Only one woman is this loved
She is your Queen
and she is only at The Lady of the Underground

The woman was young, in her early twenties, and stunning. Her smile seemed to carry the slightest hint of affection, and the paper advertised her as a massive star. Isaac ran his hand over her face lightly. "She's a looker. A pin up, I'd guess. They found this one down by the church a few weeks back. People claim they've seen her around too, but might be wishful thinking."

Lyam looked slowly from the man's hand to his face. Mid 30's obviously single. Sounds like there weren't too many available women in this tiny town. It made Lyam wonder why anyone would ever stay. Lyam, even married and with a child, had always been a wanderer. His family had gone with him every mile. London, Moscow, Rome, Tokyo, New York, he'd been all around the world with the money he made from his successful books. His life, for a time, had been like a bright and shining story all of its own, the opposite of everything he wrote.
He felt a moment of pity for Isaac, his best years wasted on this town. Everyone made their own decisions however.
"That's impossible Isaac," spoke Lyam absently his eyes more focused on the words than the girl. "This is over sixty years old, it can't be the same girl." Only one woman is this loved. She is your Queen. That was odd. Hadestown was an odd place. Persephone. Hadestown. Utopia. They had a tendency for a literary flare. Perhaps they actually had viewed themselves as an Atlantis, separated from the rest of the world, struggling with poverty. Their worries miles away on the surface. "Seen her around where Isaac?" He asked absently, sort of talking on autopilot. He had to squint a bit to read the letters. He was getting old, he'd need glasses soon.

"If it's not her, she's a dead ringer." Isaac stared off into the distance for a moment, his bar towel hanging off his hand as he was lost in thought. "Last I heard, they spotted her around the mining camps and the church. Mostly the church as of late. Father doesn't ask questions, and she seems distracted. Always dressed in gowns and evening wear, rarely talking to anybody...like a mirage. Half the time she seems to just wander about, almost as if she's taking it all in. Like the town is a whole new area to her and she has to savor it. I never talked to her, but she's been spotted. Nobody bothers her though. Guess it'd be bad luck for the lot." Isaac shook his head. "I best get back to the other customers. Take care of those, would you? And..." He hesitated. "...I don't think she'd want to be in one of your stories, if it's all the same. I don't want her to feel like we took advantage of it somehow." He spoke in a quiet tone, almost reverent.

Lyam eyed the boy carefully at that last, almost worshipful words. This is what Colorado does to people, it turns them queer as a circus made up of people with Down's Syndrome. "Right there mate, I'll leave her out of my book. Thanks for the delicious meal, I'll be back in a bit, probably for dinner. Take care." He carefully folded the two pieces of paper up as they had been before and tucked them into the inside pocket of his pea coat. Without another word he was out the door and headed to his bright red 07' Dodge Durango. Americans definitely new how to build big. He had developed a penchant for over sized SUVs as a middle finger to all the obnoxiously eco-friendly. Colorado in the winter was cold as all hell, he gritted his teeth, starting the truck and waited for it to warm up a bit before he drove to the church. Bugger it all, he should have brought some coffee. [Continued Next Scene]

"Thank you for the drink and the room." Wren replied taking a large swig of the drink. She smiled at the taste of the drink; it was a perfect balance between Vodka and lemon-aid.

Damn either I really needed a drink or I may have found our next vacation destination.

Wren was about to let Isaac know this was the best Lemon drop ever when a British voice came from behind her. She turned to see who the voice was coming from. After giving the gentleman a quick once over Wren acknowledged Lyam's smile with a slight widening of her own. She quickly realized she had been forgotten as Isaac handed over the well used book for Lyam to sign.

Where Nobody Can Hear You... I think Robyn has read that book. I bet she will flip when I tell her I saw the author.

Wren turned to find a place to enjoy her drink when she heard the start of Lyam and Isaac's conversation.

Well I might as well just have a seat here and learn a bit about this lost little town with the surprisingly good bartender and super friendly gas station owner.

Wren sat at the bar a few stools down from the two men. She figured she was far enough away to remain forgotten so the men would continue their conversation but close enough to hear it all. (listen?) Wren sat there finishing her drink and looking around the the little bar. As she heard the conversation coming to a close, Wren took her now half empty drink over to the fire place she had been eyeing during the conversation but had been too intrigued by the local history story to go sit by.

Guess I will be reading the next book that gentleman writes if it is based on this place. Maybe I will pick this town as Robyn and I's vacation destination after we have both read it.

Wren thought watching the flames flicker and sipping on her drink.

Carl had sat for a bit, contemplating his drink and the life decisions that had led him to this shitty town. If he had massaged the proper egos and left those questions that nobody wanted to answer unasked, maybe he would have made his way out of fucking Colorado. He thought back to when he had been hired to do a similar story in Utah. He was supposed to hail the hire of the new University of Utah President. He had it nearly finished when something the administrator got to him, he pulled the thread until he unearthed a pair of rape cases. It had been a big story that was pushed to the back of the paper. The administrator was never officially hired, because an "internal investigation" had found him out, and Carl was not welcome in most political circles in Utah.

He was nearly ready to order another drink when a man came down to complain about his room. He spoke with that same thinly veiled contempt that seems to come out of every Englishmen. When Carl realized that the man was Liam Benson, writer of those airplane flight horror novels that were irritatingly popular. With that he got his bag from his car and ran it up to his room. He threw his luggage on the bed where it bounced of and made thud on the floor. The room was standard small town fare, no wonder the brit complained. He washed his face, changed his shirt, another unremarkable button-up, and returned downstairs.

Lyam was on his way out and a woman sat at the bar. Were circumstances different he might try his luck, but it was about time he tried to get anywhere on his story. The more he thought about it the more likely it seemed that this was just going to be a kiss-ass piece and he ought to just do it, get paid and see how much it would cost him to move to a coast.

"Hey Isaac, can you tell me where the Galt offices are or where Dante Tanner is? "

[[Wren: Listen - 14/25 - Able to hear the whole story clearly, as Isaac made no effort to hide it. You heard the conversation on both sides fairly easily, only losing a few words here or there.]]

Isaac seemed a little off in his own thoughts after his story, and he paid no attention to the comings and going for a few minutes. When he was spoken to, he was a little slow to reply. "Boss Tanner and the Galt offices, such as they are, are all up int trailers at the mine head. Head down to the Dash, turn right, and stay on that road...you'll wind up there soon enough. He's a busy man though, seems most everyone that come through is looking for him or those folks from the Hill. Guess he must be feeling real popular." He shrugged nonchalantly. "If you wait around, he might come down at some point for an after work martini. Tends to relax. Or you can go talk to him if he can fit you in his schedule, no bother to me." Isaac quietly made a second Lemon Drop, moving with the practiced ease of a man who knows his craft. Experience told him that once she finished one, his guest would probably ask for another. He was fairly sure she'd overheard his story anyhow, and Tommy had said her car was broken down. He'd give her a second on the house if she asked. He mixed it and set the shaker aside, next to his book.

Harry exited the car and headed into the Inn without waiting for Mr. Edmonds to retrieve his luggage. Upon entering the lobby Harry approached the front counter and rang the bell on the counter to page the attendant. While he water Harry glanced around to take in his surroundings.

Harry rings the bell again. "Damn, where is the help around here," he said to himself impatiently.

Isaac came across a little annoyed, having been in the middle of his cleaning when the bell first rang. "Good evening. The Galt representative, I would presume?" Seemed a safe bet, not many other people came in via rented car with someone else carrying their bags. Or had a driver wearing a suit. He slid the paperwork for the room across to the man, along with the key. "Did you want us to let mister Tanner know that you've arrived?" He was polite, with just a hint of sarcasm beneath.

Wren was pulled from her thoughts by the ring from the entrance way. She turned her head that way to see if the entrance was in view. She was slightly disappointed to find that it was not. The next disappointment came when she saw how low her drink was.

What time is it anyway?

Wren sat her drink on the raised hearth and pulled out her cell phone.

8:45 PM

Almost been an hour already. I will just have one more if I haven't heard from Thompson by the time I have finished it then I will head up for that bath. Hope ...uh I don't know his name...the bartender/inn keep isn't gone long.

Wren took one more look at her phone willing it to ring before she put it back in her purse. Wren took one more look at the flames and decided to find out more about Crestview, so she took her last swallow from her glass, got up, and took the first stool at the bar. As she sat down she glanced out into the entrance way.

He looks important or at least that he thinks he is important. Wonder what brought him here?

Wren thought with a smile. She played with her empty glass while waiting for Isaac to get the man settled.

There seemed to be a flurry of activity at the front, as both the phone went off and a Sheriff Deputy entered. Isaac was temporarily distracted with the flurry of various questions and raised a finger at the new guest, inviting the deputy to the back office for a momentary chat. A few minutes later, the deputy came back out and left quietly. Isaac returned to the bar, taking out his pre-mixed Lemon Drop and setting it in front of Wren. "Tommy called. Says he'll get to fixing your car in the morning, if that's alright by you. Should take him a little bit - your transmission seems shot. But he's gonna have to take a closer look. Said you can get the keys from him tomorrow afternoon, if all goes well." He shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly. "Between you and me, miss, you'd best be careful tonight. They found an outsiders car abandoned down the way. No sign of her. Not a normal occurrence here. First Chris' wife, now this lady...don't want to see anything happen to nobody."